


take my hand and hold it like you know me

by elanwi



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Blow Jobs, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rich Suh Youngho | Johnny, Secret Relationship, hint of previous toxic relationships, not betad we die like men, past jaeten
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27748840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elanwi/pseuds/elanwi
Summary: Ten sets his jaw and drops his hands. He fixes his eyes onto Johnny and says, “You’re attracted to me. Se- romantically.”Johnny’s gaze flickers slightly, almost on reflex. He flits his eyes across the room, careful to catch anybody that might overhear. Apparently satisfied that there is no one, he leans towards Ten and lowers his voice to ask, “And if I am?”“Why me?” Ten says, almost in a whisper.Johnny’s lips twitch as if he wants to smile. “You drew me in.”“I didn’t do anything.”“You didn’t have to.”For the second time today, Ten can only stare at the man before him, lost for words. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him -- he would never fall for this, usually. He knows better than to fall for this. But because Johnny is kind and handsome and just the right sort of smug, Ten is acting like he wants to get his heart broken.____________________________________________________________________________Ten and Johnny meet on the deck of the RMS Titanic.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	take my hand and hold it like you know me

**Author's Note:**

> god what am i doing here. i thought i was done writing fic years ago but here we are i guess!  
> i had a big chunk of this written for ages and have only recently turned it into a coherent plot, so if you notice a tone shift you're right. i will update this probably over a few weeks, i have everything planned basically up until the sinking so if you are determined that everyone should live there is time to make your case in the comments lmao  
> hope you enjoy

They meet on the deck, in salt air and bright sunshine, when Southampton is little more than a smudge on the horizon. Ten is sketching, because he's always sketching, and something about this entices Johnny. It's unsurprising: Ten could stand in a crowd of thousands, and these rich boys would still sniff him out. 

Other than responding to Johnny’s brief introduction, Ten ignores him at first, though Johnny is tall and handsome and likely has a fancy suite to stay in. Ten promised himself he’d never get tangled in the webs of rich boys again, and he does intend to stay true to that promise. But then Johnny asks if Ten is interested in selling his drawings, and-

Well, then Ten has to look up. "You're buying?" This is probably a bad idea, but Ten is not in a position to refuse.

Johnny shrugs, strands of soft black hair falling into his face with the breeze. It's just long enough to brush his eyes, makes him squint. "My mother is an art collector. She's not on the ship, but my father often buys for her. He's touring first class right now, but you can come wait in my room until he comes back if you'd like. We can talk." 

The sun hits the waxy deck and reflects like water, setting the whole ship alight. Johnny is lit up like some sort of angel, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He's the picture of respectability; clean-shaven, well-pressed. The golden chain of his golden watch is looped tastefully over the lip of his breast pocket - he looks exactly like the men Ten used to fantasise about in his younger years.

Ten isn't so young anymore, though. He's met devils, and they all dress the same, all dress like this. This isn't heaven, and it isn't the 'ship of dreams' despite what all the White Star Line's promotional material suggests. This is the floating hunk of metal that Ten is using to flee from his demons. 

Johnny isn't an angel, because they never are.

But Ten needs money -- has spent his entire life needing money -- and if some rich boy is willing to give him some in exchange for a few drawings and a waste of Ten's time, Ten isn't going to say no. He can't say no.

"First class, I assume?" Ten says, flipping his sketchbook shut and hooking it under his arm as he stands up. Ten slips his pencil behind his ear and tries not to react too obviously to the exaggerated height difference between he and Johnny.

Whether Johnny noticed Ten's reaction or not, he's grinning like he's won the game already. "Naturally."

Ten is well practised in looking unimpressed. "Well, lead the way." 

#

‘Fancy’ is an understatement.

Johnny leads Ten through the lavish halls of B-deck, gliding like a swan past the aristocracy and letting the judgemental glances they send Ten’s way roll off his back like so much water. Ten stays close and keeps his head down, feeling guilty for something he hasn’t even done yet. He wonders how Johnny doesn’t falter, then comes to the bitter realisation that Johnny must do this a lot.

_Of course_.

Eventually, Johnny opens a heavy side door and ushers Ten in first.

It’s like walking into a different world. Johnny’s ‘room’ is in fact an ornate parlour suite, everything the image of luxury and decadence and accented in gold. There’s a fireplace and a long gilded mirror above it, reflecting Ten’s awed expression right back at him. Reflecting how _poor_ Ten looks, in his thin white shirt and brown trousers, the dark suspenders a necessity to stop them from slipping straight off of his slim frame.

For once, Ten is starting to wonder why Johnny is wasting his time with Ten at all. No one Ten has ever met before was rich like _this_.

“You _live_ here?” Ten asks, breathy and enchanted.

Johnny laughs as he closes the door behind them. It’s not a cruel laugh, nor even smug. It’s almost… _Kind_. “Well, I live here until we reach New York.”

“Where do you sleep?” Ten turns to face Johnny. He still stands by the door, while Ten came to a stop in the centre of the room. It takes a few moments of Johnny staring, the smallest spark of mischief in his eyes, before Ten realises what he just said. “Wait, shit- sorry, excuse me, that sounded inappropriate-”

Ten hasn’t gotten flustered in front of a man in years, and clearly Johnny can’t just be any man. God, maybe he really does just want to buy Ten’s drawings. And here Ten assumed that--

He feels like a fool.

“It’s fine,” Johnny says. He’s smiling again, and Ten can’t figure out if he misinterpreted _everything_ before or if Johnny has just become an entirely new person. “It’s pretty extravagant, I know. There’s a bedroom through there.” He motions to a side door, and Ten follows Johnny’s hand dumbly.

Ten’s eyebrows have yet to move back down from his hairline. “Are you some kind of prince?”

Johnny laughs again at that, like Ten has said something funny. When Johnny laughs -- when it’s genuine -- his head tips back and his eyes scrunch up and Ten has the fleeting desire to draw him.

“My dad,” Johnny says eventually, finally moving away from the door to lay his jacket on the back of an armchair that is probably worth more than Ten’s life. “Is the president of the White Star Line. If that makes him a king -- and he certainly thinks it does -- the Titanic is definitely our palace.”

Ten lets out a low whistle, even as his stomach drops anxiously. Of all the men on this God forsaken ship, of course Ten would find one who could get him thrown overboard. “What were you doing down in third class, Mr… Suh?”

“Johnny,” he corrects almost sternly, “and I was in third class because this is my ship. I can go where I want.”

Ten almost laughs. _There’s_ the rich boy he met outside. “So when is your father coming by?”

“Probably not until later,” Johnny says. “We could wait here and you can…” He wafts a hand aimlessly towards the sketchbook. “...Tell me about your art, or something. Or I could take you on a tour of the ship?”

“Why?” Ten asks, feeling a little more sure of himself now Johnny is settling back into the role Ten expected from him. “I’m in steerage, anything you show me up here is no good to me because I can’t come back.”

Johnny shrugs him off easily. “I’ll bring you back. The staff know me, they won’t even question it.”

“Why? Why waste your time on me?”

“My time isn’t wasted, if I’m spending it on a handsome face like yours.”

There’s something of a staredown. Ten doesn’t know what to do. Society is what it is, and Johnny has been clever about this: he hasn’t technically admitted to anything, whilst simultaneously telling Ten everything he needs to know.

Mainly, that Ten was right. This is a rich boy looking for a fuck. And, for whatever cursed reason, he’s picked Ten out as if Ten had _queer!_ printed across his forehead.

Ten’s grip tightens on his sketchbook. “And you’ll still buy from me? My art?”

Johnny frowns. “Of course. I said I would, didn’t I?”

He seems to mean it, if nothing else. Even if there are strings attached.

Ten considers his options, knowing there aren’t many. He told himself he wouldn’t do this anymore, and he truly meant it. He doesn’t have enough heart left to keep chipping parts off for boys like Johnny. His pride can’t take another hit, Ten knows that.

But Ten isn’t too proud to consider the reality of the situation. Ten is lucky he’s even on this ship, and he needs a miracle to ensure he makes it to New York in one piece. There’s a sketchbook back in London with a thousand mock-ups of a third-class ticket, months and months of hard work just to make it this far. In Ten’s pocket is the result: one very convincing forgery. It got him on the ship, but Ten can’t fake himself a room. He still has nowhere to sleep, and even if he doesn’t want to sleep here perhaps a tour from Johnny could unearth some secret corner where Ten could stay.

And- doesn’t Johnny have power? Wouldn’t it be useful to make friends with him? He could hand Ten over to the master at arms, but Johnny could also be the exact thing Ten needs to keep him out of trouble. If anything happens, if Johnny can vouch for Ten…

Ten takes a deep, subtle breath in then slides his sketchbook onto the chair nearest to him. He meets Johnny’s gaze and schools his expression into a light smile. “Alright, then. Impress me.”

#

Rich people get everything. 

Up here’s there’s a gym and squash courts. They have cafes, a restaurant, the most beautiful lounge Ten has ever witnessed -- evening has drawn in by the time they stop walking, in a smoking room that is currently empty aside from a few others dotted around. Dinnertime, Johnny explains, then tries to order food for Ten. Ten refuses immediately, careful not to let himself become indebted to Johnny in any sense of the word--but agrees to sit down for a drink, if only to be polite.

“If first class has gone to dinner shouldn’t you be going with them?” Ten asks, feeling completely out of his depth under the careful eyes of the waiters Johnny seems to take for granted.

Johnny just waves him off. “My father will be celebrating with his business partners tonight. Not only will I not be missed, I was not invited.”

Ten grimaces delicately. “He sounds charming.”

“You have no idea,” Johnny mutters, before turning his attention on Ten with a smile. “Tell me about yourself, though. What brings you to the Titanic?”

Ten hesitates for a split second too long, then tries to cover it up by taking a sip of his drink. It’s a rich, heady alcohol - Ten has never had it before, which is all he needs to know about the price tag. “I want to go to America.”

“I assumed that much, but what is in America?”

“I’ll find out when I get there.”

Ten was not trying to be particularly profound when he said it, but Johnny sits back with this look on his face like Ten is suddenly fascinating. “Do you live all of life like that? Unplanned?”

Ten scowls, but only slightly. “I have plans, I have _intentions_ \-- I don’t spend so much time drawing for nothing. I’m an artist, I live the life of an artist. It just so happens that America is where I’ll be doing my art next.”

“That makes sense,” Johnny says, taking a mouthful of his own drink. “Forgive my assumptions. Out of interest, what room are you in?”

Ten definitely falters too long this time. “Why?”

“I’m just wondering. It will be on your ticket, if you’ve forgotten,” Johnny says. “Can I see?”

Ten should say something, here. Anything, he should say anything to change the topic, but he can’t. He’s gone cold inside, staring at Johnny like he already knows Ten’s secret.

And, really, from the way Johnny is watching him, it won’t be long until he figures it out. “...You do have a ticket, don’t you?”

Panic. Panic and fear -- Ten is suddenly, immediately, on the defensive. “If you’re trying to blackmail me-”

“Woah!” Johnny holds both palms up, keeping them close to his body so as to avoid attracting anybody else’s attention. His eyes are wide, though he doesn’t look scared. He’s only intrigued. “I’m not trying anything! Did you stow away onto this ship?”

“Oh God.” Ten’s fingers are cold as he presses them into his temples. “What am I doing, what am I _doing_ -?”

“Ten, it’s alright, you can tell me-”

“No I can’t!” Ten hisses, “You’re the heir to the White Star Line!”

“So I’m not going to concern myself with every ticket they sold in steerage!”

No. No, no, no, that isn’t good enough. If Ten is going to give himself away like this, he wants equal ammunition against Johnny.

Ten sets his jaw and drops his hands. He fixes his eyes onto Johnny and says, “You’re attracted to me. Se- romantically.”

Johnny’s gaze flickers slightly, almost on reflex. He flits his eyes across the room, careful to catch anybody that might overhear. Apparently satisfied that there is no one, he leans towards Ten and lowers his voice to ask, “And if I am?”

“Why me?” Ten says, almost in a whisper.

Johnny’s lips twitch as if he wants to smile. “You drew me in.”

“ _I_ didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

For the second time today, Ten can only stare at the man before him, lost for words. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him -- he would never fall for this, usually. He knows better than to fall for this. But because Johnny is kind and handsome and just the right sort of smug, Ten is acting like he wants to get his heart broken.

Johnny is waiting for an answer, though, and Ten doesn’t have one. So, instead, Ten reaches into his jacket pocket and hands over his ticket like he’s placing his fate directly into Johnny Suh’s hands.

And really, in a sense, he is. If Johnny intends to turn Ten in now, he has all the evidence.

Ten downs the rest of his drink as Johnny inspects the ticket, looking more and more impressed with every passing moment.

“An old flame got in touch,” Ten says, because if he’s giving everything away he might as well tell the whole story. “He has a real ticket, and he knew I wanted to leave England, so he let me forge it.” There’s a long silence as Johnny keeps peering at the ticket. Ten’s nerves are ramping up, and in the end he just has to ask. “Are you going to report me?”

Johnny looks up sharply. “What? No!” Ten sags in relief, and Johnny passes the ticket back. “As far as I’m concerned you’ve earned your place - that is _impressive_.”

Ten huffs out a stressed little laugh. “I filled an entire sketchbook with Titanic tickets.”

“I bet!”

“So I intend to lay low,” Ten continues, fiddling with his empty glass. “I’m not getting into any trouble.”

There’s another moment. When Ten looks up again, Johnny is watching him with a tiny smirk and an impish look in his eye. “Really?” he asks, in a low, alluring voice. “No trouble at all?”

#

“I don’t think we’re meant to be down here,” Ten comments dryly as he watches Johnny attempt to open the heavy door that guards the first class swimming pool. “And- this is just a guess, but maybe that’s the reason it’s locked.”

“If they really didn’t want us coming in here after hours they’d have someone guarding the place,” Johnny says, only glancing up to check that there isn’t a steward barrelling down the corridor towards them after he’s already said the words. It’s hardly comforting.

Ten takes a step back, putting some distance between himself and Johnny, and looking both ways up and down the corridor as he does so.

The door’s lock does not give without a fight, and the noises it’s making are such that Ten is tempted to back out. He’ll bid Johnny goodbye and wander the ship on his own, because being some rich boy’s plaything is not worth spending the remainder of this voyage a prisoner--and the master at arms will inevitably be called to investigate this disturbance. Before Ten can say anything, though, Johnny miraculously pushes the damn door open and turns to Ten with the same crooked smile that got them into this mess.

“Care to join me for a swim?” Johnny says, already backing into the half-dark room behind them.

Ten should say no, but even from here he can see how the moonlight through the porthole windows reflects off the water, casting the whole room in a wash of ice blue. Despite every rational thought in his mind telling him to leave, the artist inside Ten wants more.

He follows Johnny in without a word, and this time when the door closes it goes silently.

“I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” Ten says. When he looks over, though, Johnny is already stripping down to his underwear, back arched almost obscenely as he pulls his undershirt over his head. For what feels like a long time, Ten can’t seem to tear his eyes away. “Uh, okay.”

“What?” Johnny asks with a knowing smirk. He drops the undershirt on top of the pile his other discarded clothes have already created and doesn’t look back at Ten as he dives gracefully into the water. He continues to feign innocence when he breaks the surface again, and as he swims back around until he’s come to a standstill in front of Ten, skin glistening in the low light.

Johnny can pretend all he likes, though - Ten is certain he’s flexing his muscles like that on purpose. Ten scoffs, and if it’s to hide the way his breath has caught in his throat slightly nobody needs to know. “You’re incorrigible,” he says.

“Why?” Johnny laughs, raising one arm to push his hair back off his face and absolutely flexing his bicep as he does so. “I never asked you to look.”

Ten doesn’t even deign that with a response, just strips off his own clothes until he’s in a similar state of undress to Johnny. While Ten at least pretended to be unaffected, though, Johnny makes no secret of his appreciation as he takes in Ten’s bare skin with hungry eyes.

Ten waits for Johnny to pull his gaze back up to Ten’s eye level, which takes a little longer than Ten really expected it to. When Johnny finally gets there, Ten points a stern finger at him. “Incorrigible.”

Johnny just grins.

Ten enters the water slowly, sitting on the edge of the pool with only his lower legs submerged so as to test the temperature. It makes him wince immediately. “Not very warm, is it? I expected more from first class.”

“I’ll let my father know you don’t approve,” Johnny says, like they aren’t both fully aware that nothing between them will ever be divulged to anyone else, least of all anyone aboard this ship. Unsurprisingly, Johnny doesn’t dwell on the subject, wafting one hand through the water idly. “Apparently it’s sea water.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Ten hums, dropping into the pool and wincing when the cold hits his tummy. “Atlantic ocean, it feels like.”

“Not quite,” Johnny says, then scoffs when he sees the way Ten is clinging to the poolside. “What’s wrong?”

Ten grimaces. He’d thought he might be able to reach the bottom, seeing as Johnny clearly can. Evidently Ten forgot about the significant height difference between them. “I can’t actually swim.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish.”

“Good God,” Johnny snorts this time. Ten feels the water ripple as Johnny moves closer, arms outstretched. For a moment Ten considers denying him, but ultimately goes along without resistance when Johnny takes Ten’s arm and pulls him in, gently guiding Ten’s hands to rest on Johnny’s shoulders.

Ten looks up at Johnny’s face and is almost surprised at the softness he finds there. There is only the smallest space between their bodies, which gets even smaller when Johnny’s hands find Ten’s waist and bring him ever so slightly closer. Something must change in Ten’s expression here, some small tell that would probably have gone unnoticed by anyone else, has gone unnoticed before. Johnny, though, raises his eyebrows curiously, the grip on Ten’s body loosening ever so slightly.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asks in a low murmur.

Ten just tips his chin up with an air of defiance. “Should I not be?”

For the first time today, all traces of that smug smirk fall from Johnny’s face. He moves as if to shift Ten away from him, but doesn’t seem quite willing to follow the action all the way through.

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t like me very much?” Johnny says.

“Because that’s the problem with you rich men,” Ten retorts without missing a beat. “You think you’re gods. Someone treats you with anything less than absolute reverence and suddenly you don’t know what to do with yourselves.”

Johnny huffs out a tiny laugh at that, but there’s not a whole lot of humour in it. “You think I was looking to be revered and decided I’d get that from you?”

“I think men like you are used to getting what they want,” Ten says darkly, “regardless of what anyone else thinks.”

A silence settles, broken only by the constant hum of the engines and their own steady breathing. Ten knows that Johnny understands what Ten just told him, and immediately wishes he could take it back. He doesn’t know why he’s trying to punish Johnny like this - it’s not like Ten didn’t know where this was heading. It’s not like there has been any coercion here, and even as Ten remembers the sketchbook in Johnny’s suite he knows it doesn’t count because Ten never truly expected there to be a sale anyway.

Johnny put the offer down and Ten took him up on it, it’s as simple as that. So why Ten is now acting like Johnny has lied to him somehow, even Ten doesn’t understand. He’s just going to make Johnny angry, leading him on like this. Ten’s just causing trouble, because he meant what he said: he does know rich men, he knows them far better than he ever wanted to, and what a joke it is that the first thing Ten does once he finally makes his great escape is fall into the lap of one of the richest heirs in the business.

“You know,” Johnny says slowly. The hands at Ten’s waist have drifted away, though Ten still holds on to Johnny’s shoulders. “You’re free to leave if you want to. I’m not… I won’t do anything.”

Ten tries to catch Johnny’s eyes but Johnny is avoiding him. Ten can’t hear any anger, though, nor sense that he’s lying, so Ten reaches back for the poolside again. Johnny’s hands come back only to make sure Ten doesn’t somehow sink on the way and disappear immediately when Ten hoists himself out of the water.

He twists so he’s sitting on the pool’s edge again, then stills. Truthfully, Ten hadn’t really expected to get this far. Or, at least he didn’t expect to get here without some sort of retaliation, but Johnny hasn’t moved. He’s still just standing there, in his underwear in the middle of this ridiculous swimming pool, rubbing his hands over his eyes and looking far smaller than Ten has ever seen him.

Ten is about to awkwardly get to his feet, when a reluctant noise from Johnny stops him.

“Could- um.” Johnny seems to be using the hands over his eyes as an excuse not to look at Ten. “Could I ask that you please don’t, you know… Tell anyone about this? Not because of your class, of course, it’s just that… My father… If word got around…”

It feels like Ten physically deflates. He feels so cruel, to have strung Johnny along like this, and for what? Despite every opportunity Ten has given him, practically forced into Johnny’s hands, Johnny still hasn’t done anything wrong. 

And now he thinks Ten hates him--or at least hates him enough to potentially expose Johnny to his own family.

It’s not fair, and Ten knows it. He heaves a sigh, deep enough that Johnny is curious enough to finally look up at him. Ten beckons for Johnny to come closer, a rueful smile on his face. “I wouldn’t tell anyone, I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “and I’m not leaving, either. Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t want it to be my call,” Johnny says even as he moves towards Ten.

He sounds so earnest that Ten can’t help but feel his heart soften. “It’s not,” Ten says, “it’s both of ours.”

Johnny is still looking at Ten with a wariness, like he’s not sure what’s right anymore. Ten opens his thighs a little wider in a silent invitation and takes it as a good sign when Johnny slots himself between them.

“Are you sure?” Johnny asks.

Ten just smiles, leaning forwards and down so that their faces are level. “Can I just kiss you?”

Finally, Johnny’s smile comes back at that, and Ten leans in to press his lips against it. The kiss is soft and slow and feels almost painfully intimate even now. Ten can’t remember the last time he was kissed so sweetly. He slips his hands around either side of Johnny’s neck gently, just to touch, and lets out a surprised little laugh when Johnny suddenly decides to put his muscles to good use by planting his hands on the ledge at either side of Ten and pulling himself halfway out of the water just so Ten doesn’t have to bend down so far.

The kiss deepens, tongues dragging sensually against each other, coaxing small noises out of them both. Ten lies back against the cool tile floor and pulls Johnny along with him, imagining that Johnny will climb the rest of the way out of the water and relieve the strain on his arms. Johnny just uses Ten’s movement as an excuse to start trailing his lips down Ten’s body, though, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against Ten’s neck, collar, chest, stomach. Ten doesn’t try to stifle the sound of his panting, wants to put his hand in Johnny’s hair but stops himself, ever cautious even now. Ten knows he’s hard and wouldn’t be surprised if Johnny is, too - can already see himself getting bent over the railing and pounded into so hard there will be bruises on his stomach come morning. Ten knows how these things go.

It surprises him, then, when Johnny reaches Ten’s underwear, heavy breaths tantalisingly hot over the wet fabric, and doesn’t try to take them off. Instead, Johnny just groans and lets himself fall back into the water, hooking his chin over Ten’s knee and squeezing his eyes shut almost as if he’s in pain.

Ten props himself up on his elbows to watch Johnny agonise over… Whatever it is, fascinated despite the frown on Ten’s face.

Eventually, Johnny opens his eyes to meet Ten’s gaze. He glances down at the obvious hardness in Ten’s pants, then back up again. When Johnny speaks, he really does sound like he’s suffering. “Would you hate me?”

Ten truly has no idea what’s happening now. “For what?”

“If I…” Johnny looks down at Ten again, pointedly, but Ten doesn’t get it until he spots the way Johnny’s tongue darts out to wet his lips subconsciously.

Ten huffs out a laugh before he can think not to. “Hate you for sucking me off? Is it gonna be that bad?”

Johnny scowls, which admittedly is fair. He takes his chin off of Ten’s knee, so Ten sits up again, if only to make sure Johnny isn’t going anywhere. Luckily enough, Johnny evidently has no intention of leaving.

“It’s not my call,” Johnny reminds him gently.

This time, Ten just rolls his eyes fondly. “You don’t have to worry about that. If you want to touch me, just do it.”

“No, I want to know you want it,” Johnny says, a note of intensity that Ten isn’t quite used to creeping into his voice. Then Johnny smirks shamelessly and the seriousness is all gone. “I’m looking for reverence, remember?”

Ten represses the grin that’s threatening to break through, instead running his hand through Johnny’s hair just so he’ll tilt his head back. Ten leans in again, as if to kiss him, but stops just shy of it so that his lips brush against Johnny’s as Ten murmurs, “Then show me what I’m worshiping for.”

Johnny surges up to kiss Ten again, with a kind of desperation this time, and now Ten doesn’t resist the urge to fist his hand in Johnny’s hair. He lets out an audible gasp when Johnny touches Ten’s clothed cock, which only seems to encourage Johnny further. So Ten does it again, even whines a little when Johnny finally pulls Ten’s underwear out of the way and takes hold of him properly. Johnny strokes lazily while their mouths connect for one last kiss, then Johnny moves back again, his unwavering eye contact the only warning Ten really has before Johnny takes Ten’s whole cock into his mouth all at once.

“Oh God,” Ten breathes, both hands in Johnny’s hair now even as he struggles not to push Johnny down further. Johnny is watching Ten intently, looking up through dark lashes as he bobs up and down, cheeks hollow and tongue pressed flat against Ten’s underside.

Ten feels so exposed, being watched like this, in a way he never has before. He’d be uncomfortable with all the attention, if it weren’t glaringly obvious how much Johnny is enjoying this. Every new sound Ten makes spurs Johnny on that little bit more, and in the moments when Johnny pulls off to suck a mark into Ten’s thigh or mouth at Ten’s balls, Ten can see the pleased little smile tugging at his lips.

So, Ten thinks, let him be pleased.

“You’re so good at that,” Ten groans when Johnny’s lips close around his head once more, “so good, so good…”

“Yeah?” Johnny comes back up to kiss Ten again, one hand steadily pumping Ten’s cock.

Ten can taste himself on Johnny’s tongue, and it’s no wonder: he’s so close to coming now, the precum is practically a given. Ten whines at the thought of it. “You’ve got to let me return the favour.”

Johnny grins, kisses him again. “Maybe I will, next time.”

Next time. Ten can only hope there’s a next time, though he’s not so optimistic. People like Johnny never want much to do with people like Ten once the sun rises again.

Right now, though, the moon is still high, and Johnny is still here. So Ten lets Johnny go down on him again, closes his eyes and whispers Johnny’s name into the darkness as the telltale heat coils low in Ten’s stomach, ready to burst. Ten breathes a warning that he’s going to come but Johnny doesn’t pull away, just nods and keeps going, and oh. Oh God. Okay. 

Ten presses both hands over his mouth now, still aware of potential discovery somewhere in the very back of his mind, as his orgasm rushes through him, crying Johnny’s name through ragged breaths into the dark of the night.


End file.
